Harry made a bareback rider proud and free upon a horseAnd a fine coal miner for the NCB that wasA fallen angel and Jesus on the crossA skating ballerina you should have seen her do the skater's waltzSome people have got to paint and drawHarry had to work in clay and stoneLike the waves coming to the shoreIt was in his blood and in his bones

Ignored by all the trendy boys in London and in LeedsHe might as well have been making toys or strings of beadsHe could not be in the galleryAnd then you get an artist says he doesn't want to paint at allHe takes an empty canvas and sticks it on the wallThe birds of a feather all the phonies and all of the fakes

While the dealers they get togetherAnd they decide who gets the breaksAnd who's going to be in the galleryNo lies he wouldn't compromiseNo junk no bits of string

And all the lies we subsidizeThat just don't mean a thingI've got to say he passed away in obscurityAnd now all the vultures are coming down from the treeSo he's going to be in the gallery.